Bless me, Readers, for I have lapsed. It has been five days since my last blog post, and so much has been going on. I am just plain tired, that's all, face-plant on the bed, stay in my pajamas all day tired. I keep telling myself that normal people work harder than i do, all the time, year-round, and it doesn't help. Telling myself that, i mean. Because I just have this frayed, frazzled, sensitive low-thyroid poet's body, and I am pooped. The good news is that there's just one more week of it, and then I can recoup. Hopefully.
Yoshi's was packed Tuesday night, for the Carlabration, the benefit for Carla. Everyone very glammed up, little black dresses, high heels, make-up. Wine glasses clinked, people talked, the mood was festive and expectant. First up was a comedian, David Allen Moss who joked, "It's impossible to compete with a dying woman--especially a dying white woman." Then--perhaps not in this order exactly; it's Friday now, and my brain is sawdust--came Kaila Flexer and her musical partner Gari with their duo Teslim. (For more on this or to order their haunting cd, go to Kaila's website: www.kailaflexer.com.)
They played some Eastern music on violin and aud. Kaila's composition for Carla, called Stone's Throw was especially poetic and moving. It had a gentle undercurrent of sadness, as well as light bouncing off the current. I want to hear it again--I want to write poetry while listening to it, and I will.
Then Roy Zimmerman, a wonderful political satirical singer-songwriter, who did a couple of great songs about our current state of social ridiculousness--as he said Bush makes it so easy for satirists, he practically does their work for them. Then Mike Zilber, Carla's ex, presented his settings of some Billy Collins songs. Andy Kirschner, a beautiful baritone, sang them. Those knocked me out. They were beautifully crafted, and the music fit the words perfectly. Kirschner not only had a lovely voice, but he sang as if he understood each word, inside and out. No, better than that, he sang as if he had written the words, was writing them, right then, in front of us. He got so into it that at the end of the song/poem "On Turning Ten," he cried.
Then Carla came on, and did some knock-out duets with Kirschner, with Mike's big band, Carma, backing them up. It was magical. She wore a sleeveless little black
dress and was a total siren, flirtatious and funny, and although she has complained about feeling that she's lost some control of her vocal instrument, I couldn't hear that at all. The notes were true, shaded, lively, lovely, and expressive--she can still flip a song like a hot pancake on a griddle and sing the sizzle out of it. I mean, she swung.
There were lots of ALS jokes, and Mac performed rap as well--it was his birthday, and he was presented with a cake in front of a couple hundred people, not too shabby for a sweet sixteen. It was an emotional evening, as these have all been lately. Every time Carla sings Wonderful World, she melts my New England-bred, Prozac-enhanced stoicism. G was there, wearing a dark suit and a cute black fedora with a red feather in it, and C came with me, and we all sat together, drinking it in.
Wednesday I walked around the lake with my friend Laurie, not once, but twice, (that's seven miles, folks!) talking about the perennial artist's question, "How do I make something approximating a real grown-up living doing this stuff?" It's tantalizing--there's always that carrot on the stick in front of you--this project could pan out, or that one. And the Plan B's and the Plan C's. Like me, Laurie is her own combination of down-to-earth practical and big dreamer--she's figured out a few things that I haven't, and when we put our two heads together we get more wisdom and excitement for this and other topics.
Back home at the ranch, C and I have had some interesting conversations about weight loss, as I recently joined Weight Watchers and then stopped going after two meetings. I'm carrying about twelve or fifteen extra pounds on a five foot nine inch frame--it's not that big a deal, and yet it seems to take a lot of focus to lose it. One thing I have realized from communicating with him about this is that I need to say good-bye to my fat.
Good-bye cuddly protective covering, extra three inches on my tummy, extra oomph on my hips and breasts. I know your intention is to help me survive tough Russian winters and bear healthy children even when food supplies are low. Unfortunately I haven't used you for that latter task, but I do appreciate your durability and life force. Thank you for cushioning my falls, and keeping me warm. It's spring now, and I don't need you, so thanks and good-bye.